


All of Me

by LittleUggie



Series: NaNoWriMo Shorts [4]
Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Crime Lord Hannibal, First Time, M/M, Possessive Hannibal, Smut, Will is bad at negotiating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleUggie/pseuds/LittleUggie
Summary: Will sneaks into Lord Lecter's house to make a deal.





	All of Me

**Author's Note:**

> An excuse to write smut. No apologies.

Sneaking into Count Hannibal Lecter’s house is much easier than Will expected, and it puts him on edge. A notorious crime lord (albeit one clever enough to not get caught) should at least have guards on the door, but no. After the butler, Barney, retired, it was simple enough for Will to pick the lock on the kitchen door and steal up into the Count’s study. His previous surveillance informed him that Lecter would spend a good portion of the evening in there after the servants have gone. 

He sits gingerly on the rich leather chair before the imposing desk. His heart is pounding hard in his chest. This had to work. There were no other options left. None that he could live with, anyway. 

It started when his mother remarried. Garrett Hobbs appeared an amiable enough man. He was a country squire with a modest estate. He had a young daughter whose mother had died in childbirth, and he wanted a wife to help raise her. Once they were married, however, he began gallivanting off to London. Will didn’t mind at the time, he was rather indifferent to his stepfather, and he knew his mother had only married him for the security. 

His stepsister, on the other hand, he adored. Abigail was a sweet, intelligent girl. She followed Will around like a little duckling.

He watched her grow from a bashful child into a lovely young woman. She is thirteen now, and his current actions are all for her.

His mother had married for security, but that is not what she found in Hobbs. He gambles the majority of their money away. She tried her best to save some. To scrape up enough for a dowry for Abigail, and maybe an apprenticeship for Will, but a sudden illness took her last winter. All her hard work funnels out of the hole in Hobb’s pocket in no time. 

Then his stepfather began borrowing money from the wrong people, and in this case, the wrong people were in the employment of Count Lecter. One step from destitution, Will has come to bargain with the mysterious Lord. Not for Hobbs, oh no. The man could swing for all Will cares, but for Abigail. He would be damned if she ended up on the streets thanks to her feckless father. 

The door to the study opens. Will inhales and sits up straight. Count Lecter walks in and sits down behind the desk. He shows no sign of surprise at Will’s presence, merely steeples his fingers and surveys the young man with polite interest. 

“Mr. Graham. Usually people wishing to see me leave a calling card.” 

“I don’t have any, and I wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me.” Will wonders how the man knows his name. Had Hobbs talked to him? No, he probably had some sort of information network. 

“I see. Well, you certainly have my attention now. What brings you calling so late and uninvited?” The voice is silky smooth. The accent curving around the words in unfamiliar ways. The Count is not from London, he emigrated here from somewhere on the continent. Will isn’t sure where, he’s heard different stories about the man’s past. None of which he believes to be the least bit true. 

“It is about my stepfather’s debts.” His own voice sounds stiff and strange to his ears, but surprisingly steady. 

“Yes, I thought it might be. Are you here to plead for me to release him from what is owed. Appeal to my merciful side, perhaps?” The words sound scornful, but the tone is just one of mild curiosity. 

“No sir. I am here to make a bargain.” 

One eyebrow over dark eyes raises.”I did not think your family had anything worth offering that your stepfather hasn’t thrown away at the tables.” 

“I am not here to bargain on behalf of my stepfather or to try and pay his debts.” 

“No?” 

“I am here on behalf of my sister.”

Lecter doesn’t respond to that pronouncement, just narrows his eyes and nods at him to go on. 

Will licks his dry lips. He doesn’t miss the way the other man’s gaze flicks to his mouth for the briefest second. 

“There is a finishing school for young ladies in Sussex. It is a boarding school. Abigail has been accepted there provided she is able to pay the tuition.” 

“This would be the school run by the Misses Bloom and Verger?”

“Yes.” 

“And I suppose you want me to sponsor Ms. Abigail?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And what am I to gain in exchange? You did say you were here to bargain.”

“I did, my lord.” Will takes a deep breath. Here comes the hard part. The only thing he had to offer. “I will give you myself in exchange.” 

What must be a ringing silence in the wake of that statement is lost on Will due to the pounding of his pulse in his ears. With difficulty, he holds Lecter’s gaze. 

“I think some clarification is in order.” The count finally says. 

Will breathes out somewhat shakily. “You were right, sir, when you said that my stepfather has gambled away anything of worth from our family coffers. All I have to offer you is myself, in whatever capacity you wish. I am a quick study and will be completely loyal and devoted to your service if you agree to provide the funding for my sister’s schooling.” 

Those dark eyes seemed to glow in the light from the flickering candles. 

“Whatever capacity I wish?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

The man rises and prowls around the desk. He pauses in front of Will. 

“Stand up please, and come over here.” He gestures to the center of the room. Will does so. 

The man walks around him, inspecting. Will stares straight ahead at the dark wood paneling of the wall. Lecter stops behind him. The young man can feel his breath on the back of his neck. The hairs there stand on end. 

“What if what I wanted is you stripped bare and bent over my desk?” The man murmurs. 

Pulse thundering so loud now that Will wonders if Lecter can hear it, his hands go to his breeches which he undoes. He pulls them off and folds them neatly, not turning to look at the count. His shirt follows then his under things. Lecter does not say anything, and Will folds them all and sets them on the chair he just vacated. Then he goes and gingerly bends over the desk.

The desk is clear, the dark wood smooth and polished. It is cold under Will’s cheek. He suppresses a shiver. He does twitch a little when a hand touches his back, right between his shoulderblades. The touch is light as it skims down his spine to his lower back. Will bites his lip as his right buttock is given a deep, firm pinch. It doesn’t hurt. It seems more like the count is testing the suppleness of the flesh. 

Then there are two hands on him, parting his cheeks to look at his hole. His face burns hot against the wood. His breathing is erratic, and he can feel his cock swell with interest. It’s shameful, getting aroused by this, but he cannot help it. 

He gasps as Lecter reaches between his legs and grabs his cock. It lengthens and swells in his hand as he strokes it. To Will’s everlasting embarrassment, he starts to leak. The man uses it to glide up and down the organ. Then he cradles Will’s sack, rolling it around in his palm and squeezing gently. 

He lets go and Will bites back a plea for him to keep going. Will stays where he is as Lecter moves around the study. There is the sound of a drawer opening, then he is back behind Will again. 

He sucks in through his teeth when the count’s fingers touch his hole. There is something slick and cool on them. Will closes his eyes as the tight ring is circled. Gently, one digit presses against him. He bites his lip as he is slowly breached. 

The very air in the study seems to hang still as Count Lecter works at him, stretching him open and loosening the muscles. It stings a bit, but his cock grows, if possible, even stiffer. When a second finger is added, he cannot stop a low moan from slipping from his lips. Lecter pauses, but only for a fraction of a second. A third finger presses in. Will begins to pant. 

When the lord removes his fingers, Will feels strange, like he is gaping open. His fingers open and close restlessly on the desk, but otherwise he does not move. He can hear the soft rustle of clothing. His heart pounds hard in his chest. Then a firm hand grips his hips, and the head of Hannibal’s cock nudges his stretched and greased hole.

It hurts, a hot burning as he is entered. It feels as if he is being split in half. He feels a desperate vulnerability at being taken like this, but he had offered himself in any manner the man wanted. He knew there was the possibility of the count simply tossing him out once he’d used him, but for what he had heard, the man kept his word. 

Lecter stops once he has sheathed himself to the hilt in Will, the grip on his hips so tight that he probably would have bruises later. After what feels like an hour, the pain fades into a sensation of immense fullness. Behind him, the lord shifts his hips and Will gasps loudly. He brings a fist to his mouth and bites down to stifle the noises. One of the noble’s hands cards through his hair in an almost tender gesture. Then he moves again, pulling out more and pressing slowly back in. He starts an easy rhythm, and Will can do nothing but lie there and take it. Every so often, the man would hit a spot that made sparks of pleasure shoot up Will’s spine, and he had to muffle his groans with his hand. 

Soon, Lecter is moving faster. Will can hear his breathing pick up. Sweat begins to form on Will’s body, and he finds himself pushing back into the thrusts. His thoughts become erratic, all he knows is the push and pull and mounting bliss. He needs more. Without thinking about it, he reaches down and grabs his cock, stroking in time to the count’s thrusts. His orgasm takes him by surprise, his entire body tensing with the spasms of ecstasy. 

Behind him, Lecter’s hips stutter, and he shoves forward hard, knocking Will’s legs into the front of the desk. One arm snakes around Will’s torso, and he is hauled up against the firm line of the count’s body. Will cries out in surprise, but goes limp against him, wrung out from his climax. They stay pressed tight together like that for several long moments. Then, gently, Lecter pull out of him and lets him go. 

Will’s legs feel like jelly, and he can barely keep from falling over. He stands there, still naked, and now fairly sore and sticky. He wonders distantly if he should feel ashamed. He doesn’t, but people with dignity to lose don’t sneak in the middle of the night to make deals with known crime lords. 

Said crime lord moves back around the desk, trousers done back up. The only sign of his recent activities is a slight flush along his high cheekbones. He sits back down. 

“Yes, I think we have a bargain, Mr. Graham. You may return to your stepfather’s home tonight. Gather those things you wish to bring with you and instruct your sister to do the same. I will send a carriage in the morning to pick you up.” 

“Wh-where are we going?” Will asks blinking. His mind feels sluggish now, and he is having trouble switching tracks. Goosebumps began to prick his body. 

Hannibal fixes him with a penetrating look. “Here of course. If I am to provide for your sister’s security, I can do so better from my own residence until she begins her schooling. I shall take her on as a ward. As for you…” The barest hint of a smile plays around his thin lips. “As you are now mine to do with as I wish, I plan to keep you close at hand.” 

Will shivers, and only partly from the cold. “Thank you, my Lord.” 

“You are a remarkably good negotiator, Will.” The accent makes his given name sound like a wicked secret. “You may get dressed now.” 

With stiff and jerky motions, Will does so. Then he stands in front of the big desk, wondering what to do now. Lecter answers the unspoken question by going over an opening the door.

“Until tomorrow.” The words are a dark promise.

“Good night, my lord.” 

Will slips easily back through the quiet streets in something of a daze. Had that really happened? The persistent soreness in his backside tells him it certainly did. Count Lecter had actually agreed to his bargain. He wanted them to move in tomorrow. Oh, god, how is he going to explain this to Abigail? What is Hobbs going to do when he finds out? 

He enters their house silently through his bedroom window which he had left cracked. The adrenalin of the night is rapidly catching up with him and he falls quickly asleep, though is haunted by uneasy dreams with the questions of an uncertain future racing around his head. 

He wakes early, as is his habit, just as the sun is rising, and his body remind him vividly of the previous night. Trying not to limp too noticeably, he pads quietly to Abigail’s room. 

He shakes her gently by the shoulder. 

“Abby,” he whispers urgently. She wakes up and stares at him blearily. 

“Will, wha is it?” 

“You’ve got to get up, Abby. We have to pack.” 

“Pack?” She sits up, more awake now. “What for?” 

“I’ve found a way to pay for your schooling, a sponsor, but we cannot remain here. He is sending a carriage for us soon. We have to leave your father behind.” 

Abigail bites her lip, but nods. She knows how unreliable her father is. She opens her mouth to ask another question, but Will cuts her off. 

“I’ll explain later, we both need to pack right now.” This way he’ll have time to think of what to tell her, too.

He leaves her to go back to his room. It is actually rather sad how little he has to pack. Anything of value has long since been sold to cover Hobb’s gambling debts. Will has only a few sets of clothes, a leather bound journal, and a small wedding portrait of his parents. It all goes in an old rucksack. 

Abigail’s belongings don’t take up much more room, though she does pack in a more respectable valise. Hobbs is not even awake from his previous evening’s carousing when they are picked up from the doorstep by Count Lecter’s coach.

“Now will you tell me what is going on?” Abigail demands. 

Will takes a deep breath. “I went to see Count Lecter last night.” 

“The man who holds father’s debts?” 

“Yes. I offered myself as...an assistant of sorts if he was willing to pay for your schooling. He agreed, but wants us to live under his roof. Until you go to school, he is going to take you on as a ward.” 

“Can he do that?” Abigail’s brown furrows. 

“I would say he can do whatever he likes. He is one of the richest and most powerful men in the country.” Will says. 

“Was it very hard to convince him?” 

“...It didn’t go the way I thought it would.”

Abigail still looks worried. “What is he like. I’ve heard dreadful things about him, though most people say he is very mysterious.” 

“He’s...intense.” says Will. “But quite polite.” 

“That’s good I suppose. That he was civil to you.” 

Will doesn’t know what to say to that. They reach Count Lecter’s townhouse, and exit the coach. Together, and somewhat nervously, they enter their new home. 

Barney greets them. “His lord invites you to join him for breakfast. I will send someone to take your-” he pauses delicately to take in their meager luggage. “Bags to your rooms.” 

He led them through a hallway. Will hadn’t taken much time the previous evening to appreciate the decor, more concerned with finding his way quickly and quietly to the study. Now he feels intimidated by the sheer richness of his surroundings. Even before Hobbs emptied the family coffers, they could never afford luxury like this. 

They are shown to the dining room, there is a breakfast cart on the sideboard. Count Lecter is seated at the head of the table, reading the newspaper and already dressed for the day. He stands when they enter. 

“Good morning. I trust there were no problems with your departure?” 

“No. Thank you, my lord.” Will says. Abigail stands behind him peering wide eyed around the room. “My I introduce my step sister, Abigail Hobbs.” 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Hobbs. I am Hannibal Lecter.” 

“Good morning, my Lord.” Abigail says shyly, dipping a quick curtsy. Lecter smiles, genuinely charmed to all appearances.

“Please, help yourselves to some breakfast. I am a bit more informal in the mornings. I will call for another pot of tea.” 

The siblings busy themselves preparing plates, and Will is glad for the opportunity to turn his attention elsewhere. Seeing Lecter in the morning light was doing odd things to his insides. This man essentially owned him now. He hesitates with his full plate in his hands, unsure where to sit. Lecter gestures to the spot directly on his right. Hesitantly, he sits. He concentrates on his food, but is intensely aware of the Count’s proprietary gaze on him. 

Abigail sits across from him. “Lord Lecter,” She says meekly, “I would like to thank you for agreeing to sponsor my schooling.” 

The lord’s eyes turn to her. “I cannot think of a worthier pursuit, Miss Hobbs. I am sure you will study diligently. I consider Misses Bloom and Verger close friends, and I know that they will provide you with an excellent education.” 

“What sort of duties will my brother have as your assistant?” 

Will makes himself continue to look at his plate and not at Lecter. The man does not miss a beat as he answers. 

“Oh, a variety of things, keeping my schedule, helping with paperwork, occasionally taking notes during business meetings. Things of that sort. We shall see how we fit together as we go along.” 

Will cannot stop his eyes from flicking over to the man at that, but there is nothing to indicate the comment was anything but innocent. 

“Will is a very fast learner,” Abigail says earnestly. “He will serve you well.” 

“I am glad to hear that.” Hannibal says, turning back toward Will, and catching his eyes. “I look forward to working with him.” 

After breakfast, Lecter joins them in the coach again as they go shopping and he runs a few errands. The school year will be starting soon, and her supplies as well as a suitable wardrobe needs to be purchased. Hannibal also insists on Will going to a tailor. Since he will be in Lecter’s ‘employ’, he needs to look the part. Abigail is thrilled at choosing patterns and fabrics, and it makes Will smile to see her spoiled. Then he catches Lecter looking at him and the smile fades into a hot blush. He bears his own measuring and fittings in a stoic silence, and lets Lecter clothe him in whatever he likes. It is his money after all.  _ And his body now, too _ . Will thinks. And that thought should not spark a flame of heat in his belly. 

The things they were able to purchase in store are sent to Lecter’s townhouse, with the rest to be delivered later. They are dressed in the store in new, much finer clothing, their old things discarded. Then the count takes them to eat lunch at a little outdoor cafe.Will feels edgy and exposed, as if the other diners are suddenly going to call him out as an imposter among their midsts. 

His tension must show in the set of his shoulders, because Hannibal looks at him with an expression of mild concern. 

“Is something amiss, Will?” 

“No, my Lord. I am just not used to this.” 

“Ah, a bit too much excitement for one day. We shall return home, and you will have time for a lie down before supper, if you wish.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

He had not seen his new room in the townhouse before they had left, and he discovers his bedroom is adjoined through a bathroom to the master’s chambers. He is not particularly surprised. It was obvious last night in what manner the count intended to use him. This just offers easier access. He briefly wonders what the servants must think. This room is intended for the lady of the house. Well, he supposes that you don’t stay in the service of Count Lecter for long if you can’t keep secrets. You might not stay in the land of the living. 

He does lie down for a little while before supper, but he does not sleep. The mattress is down filled, and molds around his body like a glove. The bed is a four poster with a light summer canopy. When they are drawn, they give the outside world a hazy, unreal look that perfectly suits Will’s current frame of mind. Is this really happening? It feels like he has been walking through a dream ever since last night. Things like this didn’t just happen. Abigail had made the comment in the dress shop that this was ‘like a fairytale’ 

_ Yes, _ he thinks grimly,  _ and think of all the horrible things that happen in those.  _ He wasn’t going to tell her that, of course. She was excited, and soon would be away at school. He is the one who would have to deal with the devil he had sold his soul to.

Supper started at precisely seven o’clock. Lecter had warned them that he was very particular about his meals, especially supper. Will can see why as it is brought out. There are several courses, soups, salads, meat, vegetables, sweet ice, breads. When they had lived in the country, they made due with the fish that Will caught as well as simple meals of bread, cheese, and eggs. In the city, they’d been subsiding on porridge and thin broth soups. Will paces himself so the rich food does not upset his stomach. Not that he is particularly hungry anyway, the two substantiel meals they already ate that day had satisfied his appetite. Nerves of what is to come that night are not helping his digestion much, either.

Lecter keeps up a light conversation with Abigail, asking about her interests and what she is looking forward to at school. She answers readily enough, but it is obvious by the end of the meal, her energy is flagging. It had been a long day, with whiplash inducing changes. Lecter graciously accepts her excuses as she heads up to bed. Will knows better than to think he will get the same courtesy, and when the count suggests an after dinner brandy in the library, Will goes without a word. 

Will had never had strong spirits before, and frankly did not really trust them after seeing what fools they made of men. Still, it would be impolite to refuse, so he accepts the proffered glass and takes a cautious sip. It burns going down, and he resists the urge to make a face. Lecter is watching him with a knowing little smirk that makes Will think the man knows exactly what is going through Will’s head.

There are two wingback chairs arranged on either side of the fireplace, cold in deference to the warm summer night. Will sinks into one. It is very comfortable. Lecter looks perfectly at ease in the other, legs crossed, and long fingers cupping the brandy glass. There is quiet between them. Will hazards another sip. 

At length, Lecter breaks the silence. “Your sister is quite charming.” 

“Yes, she is.” 

“I enjoyed conversing with her.” 

“I believe she found your company equally agreeable.” 

“She is very fond of you. I can see why you are going to such extremes to protect her.” 

Will doesn’t reply to that. What could he say?

“I have had my solicitor draw up the documents to make her my ward.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“Do not thank me yet, Will. In order for it to be legal, I will need her father’s signature, transferring the responsibility of her care over to me.” 

Will frowns. He should have anticipated this. “That will not be an easy task, my lord. Hobbs can be very... possessive of Abigail, for all he does not put much thought into her welfare or future.” 

“I thought that might be the case, but I am reasonably certain I can persuade him. We shall venture to your previous dwelling tomorrow to discuss the matter.” 

That sounds like the count expects him to go with him to confront Hobbs. Will isn’t looking forward to that. He’d hoped once he left, he would never have to see his stepfather again. 

Nothing for it, though. “Yes, my lord.” 

He can feel Count Lecter’s eyes on him again, studying him. Will wonders what he sees. His whole life, he has had the uncanny ability to understand other people. There faces are like open books to him. He learned early not to talk about it, because it led to all sorts of questions he can’t explain. How did he know the baker’s wife was with child? Did she tell him? Was he eavesdropping? How can he explain that he could see it in the way the baker looked at her? How she leaned toward him as if seeking comfort.  He didn’t understand how other people couldn’t see it, too. 

So he kept his mouth shut and let himself fade into the background. It was easy enough. Most people didn’t see you if you didn’t put yourself forward, too wrapped up in their own lives. Lecter, though. Will had the feeling that Lecter had noticed him anyway, before he turned up in his study. He knew his name, and hadn’t been surprised to see him there. Will didn’t think, anyway. 

Because that was the thing about Count Hannibal Lecter, Will couldn’t read him. Not really. He could see the surface, the mask that he presented to the world, and he could even tell that there was something much deeper and darker moving beneath it. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though. It unnerved him more than he would like to admit, and in no small way, it excited him. Count Lecter was interesting. 

Oh, he knew he was dangerous. One heard rumours, of course. He held the debts of powerful men, and used them to spin the world to his tune. Nothing had ever been proven. Will had never even heard of an inquiry being made. But people knew, this wasn’t a man you crossed. 

And the count was interested in him, too. There was no way he would have gone along with this if he wasn’t. Was it just physical? Will wasn’t so naive to think there weren’t men who prefered the company of other men. He had never given it much consideration before last night. He didn’t give much thought to lusts in general, too concerned with trying to keep his sister and himself afloat. 

Lecter seemed to find him attractive, that much was obvious. Will supposed, if he thought about it, that the count is a handsome man. More striking than anything else. The way he carried himself with a self assured grace is something Will, who often felt uncomfortable in his own skin, admired greatly. His thoughts drift back to the activities of the previous night, and he blushes hotly. He covers his fluster with another, larger sip of the brandy. He was beginning to feel warm and light headed now. 

“You are very quiet, Will.” The count says. “Are you naturally taciturn or is it my presence?” 

“I-I’m not much for chatter. I’ve never been a particularly social person” 

“I see. Do you think we might manage some frank conversation?” The tone has a hint of amusement that isn’t betrayed on his face. 

“I think I can pull through.” Will says, with an equally straight face. 

“Had you ever been intimate with anyone before last night?” 

So that is what he meant by frank. Will keeps his expression impassive. “No.” 

“You are willing to sacrifice much for your sister.” 

Will stares into his nearly empty brandy glass. “Myself is all I had to offer.” 

“So far I have been pleased with the transaction.”  

“It was kind of you to invite us to your home.” 

“Now, Will, we agreed to speak plainly. You know very well that it was not kindness that motivated me.” 

Will’s hand tenses on the glass. “Nevertheless. You have been more generous than our bargain specified.” 

“I enjoy seeing things done properly. Once committed, I fulfill my end the best way I see fit.” 

“And so shall I, my lord.” 

Count Lecter smiles. “Shall we retreat to the upstairs?” It is not truly a question, and they both know it. 

Will drains the last of his brandy and sets the glass down. “If it pleases you, my lord.” 

He is led to the bedrooms by the count, warm from the alcohol and the hand that rests on his lower back. They enter the one that he recognizes as Lecter’s. Will lingers by the doorway as the count moves deeper into the room, pulling the light curtains around the mattress back and lighting a few more lamps. He opens the door to the powder room that connects on the other side to Will’s room. 

“The servants have filled the tub,” Lecter says, holding a hand out to Will in a silent command. 

Will draws closer. He had not taken much notice of the bathroom when he first examined his room earlier, aside from the fact that it led to the master bedroom. Now he looks around. It is quite modern he can see, with a water closet presumably containing a toilet closed off and an enormous copper tub connected to a series of pipes that is now filled with fragrant water and steaming slightly. 

He glances at Count Lecter who is watching him expectantly. Well then. He begins to undress, keeping his eyes on the floor since he is unsure where else to look. As last night, he carefully folds his clothing, setting it on the counter by the wash basin. The room is humid. He catches sight of himself in a large oval mirror. His hair is curling wildly, his body pale except for a pink flush spreading across his face and chest. Carefully, he lowers himself into the tub. 

He leans back. It is quite nice, he finds. Much of the tension of the day leaving his body as the alcohol and hot water do their work. His eyes drift to half mast. Almost distantly, he is aware of Count Lecter also getting undressed. 

A hand presses against the nape of his neck and he looks up into the dark eyes of Count Lecter. Will’s eyes, of their own accord flicker across the expanse of bare skin. The count is more muscular than Will would have expected. Tanlines at his wrists and neck indicating time spent outdoors. His gaze skitters away from his groin. For all that he had let this man do to him and will let him do, he is still hanging onto some prudence. 

He realizes the man wants him to move forward, so he does so. The count steps into the tub behind him, and he is pulled back against the hard line of his body. The water rises up almost to the lip of the tub. Strong arms encircle his waist. Will shifts, unsure what the proper protocol in this situation should be. But the count seems content to hold him, running his hands over his skin. Eventually, Will relaxes into his arms, and despite himself, enjoys the experience. 

The water begins to grow lukewarm after a while, and Lecter picks up a bar of soap and a cloth. With brisk, efficient movements, he begins to wash Will. Bemusedly, Will allows his limbs and body to be maneuvered. No one has bathed him since he was a small child. Is this normal behaviours for lovers? Or whatever he is to Lecter. 

The count finishes by washing Will’s hair. It is a surprisingly pleasant sensation, and he leans into the massaging fingers that work through his wet, clinging curls. The count produces a pitcher from the other side of the tub and rinses the soap away. Then he stands, pulling Will with him, water cascading off them both. He turns Will around so they are facing. Will is suddenly, starkly aware that they are both nude and pressed together. He is even more aware that they are both aroused. 

The count’s hand runs slowly down Will’s back, fingers tracing the bumps of his spine. He stops just above the swell of his bottom. The other hand gently grasps Will’s chin, tilting it up so he can examine his face. Will looks back at him, wondering what he sees. Then their lips meet, it is just a soft brushing at first, but Will gasps and the count presses his advantage, slipping his tongue into the younger man’s mouth. 

Will is not sure what to do with his lips, so he simply allows Lecter to taste him. The count coaxes him into response with his skilful mouth, giving teasing nips to Will’s lower lips. Soon Will loses himself in the sensations. He is unsure how long they stay like that before he becomes aware that they are standing in the tub of rapidly cooling water. He also seems to have tangled his hands in count Lecter’s hair at some point. 

The count’s eyes are shining brightly now, and he steps out of the tub. He does not grab a towel, like Will expects, but instead, lifts him bodily out of the water. Will lets out a soft cry and grabs his shoulders. In a display of casual strength, he carries Will out of the bathroom and lies him on the downturned bed. 

It is just as comfortable as Will’s mattress, but he does not have time to appreciate it, because Count Lecter is coming down on top of him, kissing him deeply. The hot press of his body sends shivers of pleasure through Will, and unconsciously he begins to push back against him, striving for friction. Lecter’s mouth moves to his neck. He kisses down his throat and to his chest, where he pauses to lick and nip at Will’s nipples. 

The younger man gasps and trembles, try both to arch up and pull away at the the same time. His hands are buried in Lecter’s hair again. The man pulls off, hands grasping the outside of Will’s thighs. He urges them to wrap around his waist. This brings their cocks into direct contact. Lecter wraps a hand around them both. Will moans at the heat of the other man. He fancies he can feel his pulse through the press of skin. 

The strokes are slow and slick from their combined fluids. Will tightens his legs around the man, as if to urge him on. He is unsure what to do with his hands, and has to settle for fisting them in the sheet below him. The stimulation isn’t enough. Will needs more. His hips rise and fall with increasing desperation. 

Then Lecter lets them go, and Will lets out a noise of protest. But the other man is picking up a bottle of something on the nightstand. He opens it, and Will can tell it is some sort of fragrant oil. He slicks his fingers with it and reaches under Will, finding his hole. He is still slightly sore from his first time yesterday, but he raises his hips to give the count better access anyway. 

Lecter grabs one of the pillows and places it under him. Then he goes back to readying Will, adding more oil and loosening him up. When he can easily take three fingers and is pushing back against him, the count oils his cock. Will watches it in eager anticipation now, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. It gleams in the lamplight. The foreskin drawn back away from the head, exposing the red glans. He is thicker than Will, but approximately the same length. It doesn’t look like it is as big as it felt when it was inside Will. 

Which it will soon be again. Lecter takes Will’s ankles and puts them on his shoulders, completely exposing Will. Then he begins to press in, watching his organ disappear into the tight ring of muscle. 

Will holds his breath through the stretch. It is not exactly painful, not like last night, but the sensation is almost too much for him. He forces himself to relax into the intrusion, but it is difficult. His nerves feel taught, like the slightest twang could send him into pieces. He looks past Lecter’s head at the top of the canopy. He sighs and closes his eyes when the head finally breaches him, the rest of the shaft following easily. 

He clenches his inner muscles around the member and moans softly. He feels even fuller in this position, pinned and stuffed. Lecter leans forward, and the muscles in the back of Will’s thighs protest. He arches his back, and moans, louder as, impossibly, the count slides deeper into him. 

The pace starts out slow, and Will fancies he can feel every vein on the heavy shaft. His breath comes out in pants. Hannibal shifts his hips, and suddenly he is hitting that place inside that makes stars spark behind Will’s eyes. He rocks into the older man, hands reaching up and grabbing onto the heavy wood bed frame. He feels if he doesn’t hang on he’ll be swept away by the tide of pleasure. 

Hannibal lets his legs slide down, and he is leaning over him, hands braced on either side of Will’s head, pounding into him now. His eyes gleam in the moonlight, shadows dancing across his face and the planes of his muscular body. Will stares at him, rapt. Like this the man looks like a true demon, come to claim him. Will watches until the sensations become too much and his eyes shut as his entire body spasms in ecstasy, arching and gasping. Hannibal comes down on top of him, crushing him into the bedding, and he can feel the hot spill of the other man’s seed deep inside of him. 

They stay locked together, bodies growing relaxed and heavy in afterglow. And it is like that, with his new master’s cock softening inside of him that sleep comes and takes Will away. 

He awakens early the next morning with the sunrise. There is a moment of disorientation before he recognizes where he is and the events of the previous two days come back to him. He sits up quickly in Count Lecter’s bed, and regrets it as his body protests. He wonders if he will ever be given time to recover before the lord indulges his hungers again. He may have to get used to walking with a limp. 

He seems to have been cleaned up sometime during the night, which causes a flush of belated and pointless embarrassment. The man had been inside him, for god’s sake. They had bathed together, there is no point in modesty now. Not to mention, he is still naked in his bed. Also alone, Will notes. He feels the indent of the other pillow. It was cold. 

He goes back to the room that was assigned him, and dresses in one of his new outfits. Going downstairs, he runs into Barney, who informs him that the lord is waiting for him in the study. He finds his way there. Was it really only day before yesterday that he had snuck into this room? He raps lightly on the door and is called in. 

Hannibal looks up from behind that massive desk. “Good morning, Will. I am glad to see you are awake. My solicitor sent an early runner with the paperwork, so I would like to go over and procure Hobbs’ signature post haste.” 

“Oh,” Will says, taken aback. His eyes keep being drawn to the front of the desk. That was where he’d lost his virginity. He was experiencing a certain amount of disequilibrium. “Right now?” 

“Yes. I would like to get it done before breakfast. Best to move things along quickly as possible so Abigail, and yourself, can settle into your new roles.” 

_ My new role _ , thought Will.  _ As your...lover, mistress, bedwarmer, pet? What is my new role? _

“As you wish, my lord.” Is what he says. 

Since it is just the two of them, they take the count’s hansome. Will watches the way Lecter easily handles the reins, the proud horses responding to the lightest movement. It distracts him from the way the bumping over the cobblestones makes his new soreness flare up. 

They pull up to the front of Hobbs’ townhouse. Even from the street, it looked shabby. It had been and inheritance, which is why Hobbs could remain living there despite being perpetually indebted. 

It’s odd, Will had lived there for several years, but looking at the townhouse in the early morning light, it feels like a stranger’s home. There is no sense of nostalgia or regret for his actions. 

Hannibal secures the hansome at the street. “I anticipate this will only take a few moments.” He says to Will, helping him step down. 

“I do not think Hobbs will fold that quickly.” Will responds uneasily. 

“Yes, he does seem to have a problem knowing when to fold. But I believe I can...persuade him.” 

He taps on the door, but there is no answer. “Will?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you happen to still have a key for this residence.” 

“I know where the spare is.” Will reaches behind the wooden address numbers, and produces the key. Lecter takes it and opens the door. 

“Where might your stepfather’s chambers be located?” The question is mild. Will looks sideways at the count, but leads him to Hobbs’ bedroom door. He can hear his snoring from the other side of the doorway. 

“Allow me,” The count throws open the door. It hits the wall with a bang. Hobbs sits up, eyes wild and bloodshot. His clothing is unkempt, obviously he had not bothered to do more than take off his shoes before falling into bed the previous night. 

“Wha-What’s this?” His eyes focus on the two figures in the door. “Will? What are you doing?” 

“We need your signature on some forms, Sir Hobbs.” Hannibal says, as if he had not just burst unannounced into a man’s bedchamber. “It should only take a moment of your time, and then we shall leave you to your devices.”

Hobbs seems to wake up a little more. He glares at the count. “Lecter. I heard from Budge down at the game halls last night that he’d seen you galavanting about with my daughter. What the hell are you on about? And you,” He turns to Will. “Where is Abigail. You are suppose to look out for her.” 

“That is what I am doing.” Will says, stone faced. 

“Will is dedicated to Ms Hobbs. He is ensuring her future. Which is more than you ever did.” Hannibal says with a genteel look of distaste. He flourishes a piece of parchment, and a fountain pen. “Your signature, please, on this line.” 

“I’m not signing anything.” Hobbs clambers out of the bed, swaying slightly. 

“Oh, I think you are.” The Count’s voice is suddenly silken. “Because I happen to know exactly how much you lost at the tables last night, and who you owe money to. Lord Dolarhyde is not a man to cross, Hobbs. He is perfectly happy to take his pounds in flesh You do not have the money to pay your debts to him, nor anyway to procure that amount.” 

Hobbs swallows, looking slightly ill. “I could scrape something together.” 

“Perhaps.” says Lord Lecter. “Though I doubt it. On the other hand, you can sign these papers. I will buy your debt from Dolarhyde, and your daughter will have a bright future while you will be able to go on to gamble another day.” 

Hobbs’ face screws up in a mask of indecision. He stares at the papers, looking very crisp and white against the background of the shoddy room. 

“Sign the papers, Garrett.” Will says quietly. “This is one debt you can settle. You owe this to Abigail.” 

Hobbs closes his eyes, and sags, all the fight gone out of him. “Fine.” He takes the paper and scrawls an untidy signature. 

“And Will, you sign as witness.” Count Lecter says. Will does.

“Thank you. Have a good day, Sir Hobbs.” Count Lecter turns and sweeps out the door. Will follows, blinking bemusedly.

He stops short when he hears a strangled cry come from Hobbs’ room. He rushes out the door in a sudden rage, flying at the count at the top of the stairs. Will reacts without thinking, grabbing the first thing that comes to hand and swinging. It hits Hobbs’ head with as sickening thud. Lecter moves out of the way as Hobbs goes tumbling down the stairs, landing at the bottom and coming to a final, violent stop. 

Carefully, the count picks his way down. He examines Hobbs, placing a hand to his neck and checking his breath. He stands and looks back up at Will, who is frozen in shock at the top of the stairs. 

“I should put that back where you found it, if I were you. Will looks down at his hand which is clutching a heavy iron candlestick. There is some hair and blood on the base. His gaze seems to narrow in on it until it took up his entire vision. He feels as if he stepped outside his body and is watching the entire scene again from an outside viewpoint. Hobbs had tried to hurt Lecter, and he’d reacted. He had killed him. 

Suddenly, Lecter is in front of him. He carefully takes the candle from him, and meticulously cleans it off with his handkerchief. He sets it back down on the table where it had been. Then he places a hand on the back of Will’s neck and leads him down the stairs. He guides the younger man around Hobbs.. 

_ His corpse, I killed him _ . 

Will’s only tether to the world was Lecter’s hand. He doesn’t remember the ride back to the count’s house. Vaguely, he is aware of people speaking. He blinks and looks into Abigail’s worried face. 

“Will?” He swallows and looks around. He is in the dining room. They are eating breakfast. He looks down. There is a half eaten piece of toast on his plate. He looks back up at his sister. 

“Sorry.” He tries for a grin, but it probably looks more like a grimace. “I slept poorly. Unfamiliar bed, you know.” 

She watches him with concern. “Perhaps you should go back to bed. You look ghastly.” 

“Perhaps.” He looks at Hannibal, who is tapping the top of a boiled egg. The count looks back at him, face writ with mild regard. 

“I agree with Ms Hobbs, Will. I shouldn’t like you coming down with something. Yesterday was quite eventful. We could all benefit from a day in. It will give us time to settle into our new arrangement.” 

Will nods jerkily and all but flees the dining room. He lies on the soft bed, the sight of Hobbs’ body burned into his mind’s eye. He drifts at some point into a sleep fraught with nightmares. He wakes again, sometime in late afternoon. Hannibal is sitting in a chair by the bed reading a book. 

Will just studies him a moment from his prone position on the bed. How can he be so calm? One heard stories, of course, but the man had not even blinked at Hobbs’ death. How many other deaths had he seen? How many had he caused? 

Well, he wasn’t to blame for this one, it was all on Will. 

He becomes aware that the count is studying him back. Will sits up, turning his face away. 

“What will happen?” He asks in a voice barely above a whisper. 

“The body will eventually be discovered. Perhaps by Dolarhyde, perhaps by someone else. It’ll be written off as an accident. A habitual drunkard falling down the stairs. No reason for it to be looked further into. The paperwork has already been filed to officially make Abigail my ward. She will go off to school after the summer is over and no doubt grow into a charming woman with many prospects.” The count sits back as Will digests this. 

After a long moment, the younger man nods slowly, a band around his chest that he didn’t notice until just now loosening. 

“And me?” He asks. 

“I was not lying when I told your sister I was taking you on as an assistant. Perhaps protege would be a better term. There is much I would like to teach you.” 

“Whatever capacity you wish.” Will says. 

“Yes.” Hannibal’s fingers threaded through Will’s curls. “You offered me yourself, Will. And I intend to take all of you.” His lips brush across the younger man’s mouth, sealing the promise.


End file.
